Freely We Serve (a Dragon Age fanfiction)

Ceremony

Kylon and Alistair walked to the Palace together, Alistair fidgeting in the golden armor that had been made for the taller, less muscled Cailan. He paused at one point, heedless of the busy street they were in, to try and adjust the breastplate, Kylon helping him with the buckles and the resettling. When the breastplate was back in place, marginally more comfortable, they both looked up and noticed that they were in the midst of a circle of Fereldans. Kylon could hear whispers and comments from the crowd. "Don't wear that armor like the old King did, does he?" "You think he has to have a servant help him with his armor ev'rywhere he goes?" "Mamae, is that the new King? He looks nice." "Just like his father, walks through the people like he's one of 'em." "Cailan!" "Not Cailan, you fool. Albert or somethin'." "Oh."

Kylon cleared a path through the people, hearing more commentary as they passed. Once they were safely inside the Palace, Alistair said, "I finally understand why nobles never actually walk anywhere. Maker, some of those people actually seemed to think I was Cailan arisen from the dead. Creepy."

"And others were impressed," Kylon said. "That the man about to become king would walk amongst them as though he were one of them. If you're smart, you'll maintain that impression."

"Most people don't take my intelligence as a given," Alistair murmured.

Kylon clapped him on the back. "Think how good it will feel to prove them all wrong."

Alistair grinned. "Keep talking like that, I'll make you Chancellor."

"No, thank you!"

Eamon came through the doors, rubbing his hands together. He looked Alistair over. "Good, good. You're here, Anora's ready ... let's get started, shall we?"

"Might as well be now as later," Alistair sighed. "Which comes first, the coronation or the wedding?"

"The coronation, I believe. Then the wedding."

"Great," Alistair groaned, although it wasn't clear if he would have been happier had the order been reversed. The Landsmeet stood, watching, absolutely silent, as Alistair clanked up the aisle in his golden armor. The atmosphere was a somber one.

The Grand Cleric stood at the front of the room, the golden crown held high in her hands. Alistair approached, kneeling before her. Kylon, watching from the back, thought that he looked as though he expected to be beheaded instead of crowned. The Grand Cleric intoned the words of the Canticle of Benedictions:

Blessed are they who stand before

The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.

Blessed are the peacekeepers, champions of the just.

She laid the crown gently on Alistair's head. "Rise, Alistair Theirin, King of Ferelden," she said. "May your reign prosper and your rule be wise."

Alistair stood, facing the Landsmeet. As Kylon watched, he took a deep breath, his eyes closed, and then raised one arm, crossing it over his chest, and bowed toward them. Swearing his oath of fealty to the nation, Kylon thought. How very Alistair. And as one, the members of the Landsmeet, Ferelden's nobles and rulers, returned the gesture.

At the back of the room, the sisters of the Denerim Chantry began to sing the Chant of Light, softly and in exquisite harmony, their voices floating ethereally across the room. Kylon stepped forward, taking his place at Alistair's side. His presence caused a small stir, as none of the nobles knew who he was, but then all was quiet again. Eamon hastily handed Kylon a pair of rings and then returned to stand with the other nobles.